


What Happens on Telarus (Or The Adventures of the Radiant One and the Village Idiot)

by Lenore



Series: What Happens [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Amnesia, Challenge Response, First Time, Kink/Cliche Challenge, M/M, Missionfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-15
Updated: 2006-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all about the amnesia! And the beaded thong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens on Telarus (Or The Adventures of the Radiant One and the Village Idiot)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Cuff 'Em, Vamp 'Em, or Just Make 'Em Come Already Kink and Cliché Multi-Fandom Challenge](http://svmadelyn.livejournal.com/362237.html). Big thanks to [](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/profile)[**barely_bean**](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/) for doing super fast beta reading on short notice.

His first waking thought, groggy, half-formed, was that he'd somehow gotten himself trapped in a snow bank, nothing but white as far as the eye could see. His second thought, just as sluggish, was that he wasn't shivering. In fact, he wasn't even a bit chilly, which was either a good sign or a very, very bad one. He closed his eyes and opened them again, and surprise! That trick actually worked. On second glance, he could see that the snow bank was in fact a bed, a very, very _large_ bed, with pristine sheets and a satiny white coverlet.

He let out a breath. The fact that he'd never actually been lost in a blizzard did nothing to deter his relief. He glanced around the room curiously, squinting at the furnishings. White couch and chairs and rug, none of it looked familiar. He considered getting up to explore, but this was more abstract concept than actual game plan, his body as ponderous and lazy as his thoughts.

It took a soft snuffle from the far reaches of the mattress to make him move—or jump out of his skin, as the case may have been.

Of course, he probably should have noticed sooner that there was a man sharing the bed, a dark tousled head, beard-rough cheek on the pillow next to him, but it really _was_ a large bed. And however they'd ended up here, it had not left him at his sharpest. The other man made a restless noise, body twisting in sleep, long legs kicking off the covers, and, okay, so that answered some questions. The man's only clothing was a skimpy black thong, beaded in front in a way that really accentuated—

This made him curious, and kind of terrified, about what he himself might be wearing. He ducked a glance under the covers, and his nakedness confirmed his suspicions. He yanked the blankets all the way up to his chin and frantically sifted through his memory, trying to figure out who this man was, how they'd ended up here, and whether it had been any good. But all he drew was a big, frustrating blank. So he downgraded his questions, trying to establish a few basic facts: Who was he? Where did he live? What was the last thing he remembered?

Still nothing.

"Huh," he said out loud.

The man beside him stirred. Great. Now, on top of everything else, he was going to have an awkward morning-after with the gigolo from the night before.

The dark-haired man opened his eyes and slowly looked around, rubbing at his temples. Apparently it had been one hell of a party for both of them.

The man demanded, "Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?" he snapped back.

The man frowned grumpily. "I asked you first."

"Well, as hard as it is to argue with that line of reasoning, apparently whatever I was drinking last night killed off whole regions of my brain. So it would be very helpful if you could supply some details."

The other man's frown grew more severe. "Wait. So...you don't know who you are either?"

He stared. "You too?"

The man nodded.

"Huh. Well, that's— unusual."

The man narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you're even telling the truth? Maybe you drugged me."

"How do I know you're not just suggesting that to confuse the issue because _you_ actually drugged _me_?" He pointed an accusatory finger. "It's not as if you're in the most respectable line of work, you know."

The man glared hotly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Have you noticed what you're wearing?"

The man glanced down at his attire, but had the temerity to insist nonetheless, "There could be other explanations."

"Oh, please. You've got on a beaded thong, you're very pretty, and you have come-hither hair. Do the math!"

"Well, if I am a hooker, you're—"

"Someone with good taste and money to burn apparently."

The hooker scrutinized him. "I think I'll call you Fred."

"Why?"

"It sounds nicer than 'the john'."

"But why Fred?"

The hooker shrugged. "It just seems to fit."

Newly dubbed Fred narrowed his eyes at his companion. "Fine then, _Reynaldo_."

The hooker now known as Reynaldo rolled his eyes.

"What?" Fred demanded. "It's the perfect name for someone wearing a beaded thong. And, hey, not that this hasn't been great— you know, I'm assuming. But I really should be going."

Fresh air, he hoped, would restore his beleaguered memory. He tugged the sheet loose, wrapped himself in it, and lumbered to his feet. After some awkward searching, he located his clothes wedged between the night table and bedpost, shirt and pants made from some coarse fabric, a pair of rough-hewn boots. He shimmied into them under cover of the sheet and wondered why someone who could afford a gorgeous escort for the night couldn't manage to dress better,

"Your modesty is kind of cute, but I'm sure I've already seen everything," Reynaldo said, obviously amused.

"Yes, well, you don't _remember_, so it doesn't count. And it really wouldn't hurt _you_ to put on something."

Reynaldo's mouth tilted into a smile. "You're the one who thinks I'm a hooker. In which case I'm sure I'm perfectly comfortable just the way I am." He stretched languidly to emphasize the point.

"Well, if I'm a john, then I'm sure I have all kinds of sexual hang-ups, so could you please just—" He waved his hand.

Reynaldo sighed, but he did glance around and grab a robe from a nearby chair. "Happy now?"

"Yes. Thank you." Fred hesitated at the side of the bed. "Well. So. I'm not certain what people say in situations like this, so I'll just leave it at: it's been interesting."

He headed down the hall in search of the door, only to find that there were heavy metal panels clamped shut over it and all the windows, too.

"Oh, shit!"

He tried the close-your-eyes-open-them trick again, but sadly this time it didn't work.

Reynaldo came to see what the matter was. "Maybe it's just for privacy or something. I'm sure there's some way to get it open."

They took turns feeling along the edges of the panels for a button or a lever or something, but there was nothing.

"Huh," Reynaldo said.

"Oh, God. We're trapped. We're going to die in here!"

Reynaldo gave him an oh-please look. "It's a little early to panic, don't you think?"

"You're right. I should wait until my body is nearly lifeless, wracked by dehydration. That will be a much better time to start worrying."

"I know something that should make you feel better." Reynaldo turned back toward the bedroom.

"I don't think a blowjob is going to solve anything." But Fred being a man followed anyway.

Reynaldo strode past the bed into the next room, which as it turned out was a kitchen. The windows here also had metal panels closing them off, but there was plenty of food and water at least. Reynaldo stood in the middle of the room, looking smug.

"All right," Fred conceded. "Maybe we aren't going to die. Not just yet, anyway."

Reynaldo laughed. "That's the spirit." But then his mirth faded. "Although I do have to wonder how we got stuck in here in the first place. Who locked us in? And more importantly, what do they want?"

Fred threw up his hands. "Oh, great. Way to reassure me."

"It's something we need to consider," Reynaldo said, arms crossed over his chest.

"Why? So we can spend whatever time we have left anticipating our horrible demise—"

He was cutoff mid hysterical outburst by the loud metal clang of the panels sliding open.

"Oh, shit!" Fred said, frantically looking around for somewhere to hide.

Reynaldo grabbed a meat cleaver. "Stay behind me."

"Very gallant," Fred told him, " but do you honestly think—"

"Ssssssssh!" Reynaldo hissed at him.

They crept back into the bedroom. Reynaldo plastered himself against the wall by the hallway leading to the door and beckoned Fred to do the same. At least they'd have surprise on their side, although that probably wasn't saying much. The latch on the door clicked open, and footsteps started toward them.

A good half dozen men charged into the room, too many for Reynaldo to do anything but brandish the knife and make a defiant speech, "Maybe I can't take you all out, but I do plan to give it my best shot."

An older man, with long gray hair, dressed in a simple blue robe stepped forward. "Relator! Are you all right? The solar storm struck without warning. We were all very worried for your safety."

Yet another odd development, and Reynaldo slowly lowered the knife. "Wait. So, you know me?"

"Of course," the older man's tone was solicitous, even reverent, "you are Johnoo, Honored Relator of Telarus, the most Radiant One."

"Huh," said Reynaldo, or the Radiant One as he was now known.

"I am Ziel, Elder of the Council of Telarus. Do you not recognize me?"

Johnoo shook his head.

"Perhaps you should sit down, Radiance," Ziel said, his concern very apparent. "It appears that you are not yourself. You must not have been able to seal the doors and windows in time before the solar storm hit. Perhaps you were waiting for Rodnok to arrive for his appointment. "

"Rodnok?" His Radiance asked.

"Yes." The Elder pointed at Fred. "You do not remember him either?"

Formerly Fred frowned. "Well, I suppose Rodnok sounds a little more familiar."

"I don't remember anything," Johnoo complained.

"Do not worry, Radiance. It appears that you are suffering from memory blindness. This can happen when one is exposed to the disturbance caused by the solar flares. It is only temporary. Your memory should be fully restored in a few days' time."

Rodnok crossed his arms over his chest skeptically. "Memory blindness? You've got to be kidding."

But Ziel's expression was perfectly serious. "Memory blindness is no laughing matter, Rodnok."

"Actually, memory blindness is the most utterly ridiculous thing I've ever heard. There is simply no way solar radiation could have that sort of effect on people."

The Elder smiled gently, the way people did with children. "There, there, Rodnok, you must not get yourself worked up about matters that are beyond your comprehension. Go home and rest, and I promise you that all will be well soon enough."

Rodnok bristled. "You can't just dismiss me. And what do you mean beyond my comprehension? I'll have you know—"

"Haaron," the Elder interrupted, "please make certain that Rodnok gets home safely. His wife and children will be very worried about him."

Haaron took him by the arm, rather unceremoniously, and led him to the door

"Wait," Rodnok said over his shoulder. "Wife and children?"

But the Elder was preoccupied attending to the Radiant One. "Perhaps you should lie down. We do not wish you to overtax your strength."

"Hey, what about me?" Rodnok complained

But no one was paying him any attention, and Haaron hustled him along.

* * *

It was a long walk back to the village. Rodnok's feet hurt, and Haaron wasn't much of a conversationalist, making no attempt whatsoever to answer his many queries about how much farther they had to go.

At last, a cluster of houses came into view, and Rodnok breathed a sigh of relief.

He darted a nervous glance at Haaron. "So, um— we don't have to mention anything to the wife about where I was, do we?"

He might not remember the woman, but surely in any marriage the less said about the husband's proclivity to visit male prostitutes the better.

Haaron did not respond to his plea, and Rodnok was prepared to argue the point when Haaron stopped and pointed. "You live here."

Rodnok stared. "Surely there's some mistake."

To call the house merely "tumbledown" would have been far too rosy a picture to paint of it. Rodnok thought even "hovel" wasn't fully descriptive.

"Your wife will look after you now," Haaron told him. "I must return to the Radiant One. He may require my assistance."

Haaron turned and hurried away without so much as a "hey, feel better."

Rodnok yelled after him, "He's not the only one with memory blindness, you know!"

The door to the house opened with a screech of hinges in desperate need of oil. A woman peered out, scowling fearsomely. "Oh, so it's you doing the caterwauling out here, Rodnok. I should have known. Well, don't just stand there like a simpleton. Get inside, get inside!"

She held the door open, and he hesitantly crossed the threshold. The house was an even grimier shambles on the inside, and now that he'd had a better look at the woman, he couldn't decide whether she or the abode was a more ungainly eyesore. She walked stooped over, her shoulders humped. Her dress gave the impression of a sack filled with lumpy potatoes, stained in places. Her hair stuck out from her head at odd angles, not brushed recently, or possibly ever.

"So your brains are addled, are they? Well, more so than usual anyway." She threw her head back and laughed, showing off several blackened teeth. "I'm Merda, so's you know."

"Are you— the maid?" He could only hope.

She guffawed again, more loudly. "You'd think so for all the help I get around here. Ungrateful curs for sons. Village idiot for a husband. What kind of crazy fool goes wandering around in the middle of a solar storm, I ask you?"

Rodnok shot back hotly, "I'll have you know the Elder said it hit unexpectedly."

"Pfft!" Spittle flew, as if for emphasis. "Well, now, I guess you'll be hungry too, on top of everything. Expect me to serve up supper like I've got nothing better to do." She headed toward what Rodnok assumed must be the kitchen, muttering under her breath, "Crazy fool."

He followed reluctantly and only because he was, in fact, starving. The kitchen was just as terrifying as he might have imagined, if he'd been brave enough to picture it at all. The table was heaped with dirty dishes and the rotting remnants of food from who knew how many meals ago. Around it sat two hulking boys, slack-jawed and squinty-eyed. Given Rodnok's luck so far, he guessed they must be his sons.

"This here's Lorg." Merda pointed to one of the behemoths. "And the othern's Turq. Boys, your father's gone strolling about in a solar storm like a right good fool and got himself a case of the memory blindness."

Lorg snorted. "Well, he ain't the village idiot for nothin', is he?"

"Not enough sense to come in out of a solar storm." Turq rolled his eyes.

Rodnok put his hands on his hips. "I'll have you know that no one anticipated this storm. And is that any way to speak to your father?"

The boys hooted loudly, and Merda joined in, her laugh an ear-splitting cackle.

"Ah, you really don't remember nothin', do you?" she said when she could finally speak, wiping her eyes.

He ignored that remark and sat down at the table with all the dignity he could muster.

She went to the stove, where a large pot sat bubbling on the fire. "You're lucky there's some stew left."

She ladled up a bowlful and slapped it down in front of him. He stared it at with a blooming sense of indigestion. It was hard to identify what color it was exactly, although gray came the closest. He sniffed at it cautiously and pushed it away. No one was that hungry.

Merda gave him a dark look, and he smiled weakly. "I guess all the excitement has taken away my appetite."

She sniffed indignantly.

Turq grabbed for the bowl. "Good. More for me."

Rodnok watched with disgust as he greedily shoveled the slop into his mouth. Merda smacked him on the arm to get his attention.

"Ow!" Rodnok rubbed the place.

His chuckleheaded sons snorted in derision.

His wife clucked her tongue. "Don't be such a baby, Rodnok. I'm trying to talk to you. I don't suppose you recall how it went with Johnoo, eh?"

"That's the thing about losing your memory," Rodnok told her caustically, "you tend not to remember things." But then he realized what he'd just inadvertently admitted, and his face turned hot. "Um, so you know where I was?"

"Who do you think sent you?"

His mouth fell open. "So…you wanted me to have sex with a male prostitute?"

"Oh, for the love of— what stupid nonsense are you on about now? Johnoo is the Relator, Keeper of All Sensual Wisdom, not some whore. You didn't insult him, did you?"

Rodnok hesitated, "Well, I may have intimated that—"

Merda hit him hard on the shoulder. "Of all the dimwitted—" She pointed a finger, the griminess of the nail alone enough to intimidate anyone. "You will go see him tomorrow right after work and grovel at his feet for forgiveness. And while you're there, see if he'll help you with your problem." She grabbed his crotch. "I'm tired of this falling down on the job."

The boys snickered

Rodnok pushed her hand away. "Are you suggesting—"

"That you're a piss poor excuse for a husband between the sheets? Yes. Now when the boys are finished, see that you wash up those dishes. I'm going to sleep."

"Did you ever think there might be a _reason_ why I'm not very excited about—"

Rodnok took a deep breath. In a supreme act of willpower he made himself stop, however well deserved the tirade might be, on the outside chance that there was something about this life he might actually value when he regained his memory.

"Which way is our bedroom, my— dear?" He plastered on a smile, doing his best to be pleasant. "I'm afraid I've forgotten."

Merda slapped her thigh and laughed. "Oh, that's a good one. Why in the Relator's name would I let you in my bed if you're no use to me?" She nodded to a pallet in the corner of the kitchen. "You sleep there until you're able to properly service me again."

She went off to the bedroom, still cackling. The boys laughed at his expense for a good five minutes before heading for their own rooms. Rodnok sighed as he got up from the table. He washed the dishes and settled into his own lumpy bed that smelled of dust and mildew.

"My life can't possibly get any worse than this," was his last thought of the day.

* * *

In the morning, Rodnok got up and went to work and found out just how wrong he'd been. His place of business was a ball bearing factory, and his job was to sort through the end product, making sure all the small ones were in the container marked "Small Ball Bearings," and all the large ones were likewise properly stowed. All day, endlessly, he stared at shiny silver things, mindlessly sorting them.

To keep from dying of boredom, he cast a critical eye around the factory floor. It wasn't long before he had ideas for a good half dozen improvements that would make the operation run more efficiently. When he tried to share this brainstorm with the foreman, though, the man laughed so hard his belly shook.

He clapped Rodnok on the back and told him, "Best not hurt your head with all this thinking, and just stick to what you know."

The factory workers erupted with great peals of laughter, and Rodnok seethed through the rest of a very long day.

When quitting time finally rolled around, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and stay that way for the rest of his life. Standing in one place for nine straight hours had nearly killed his knees, plus he had to stoop slightly to place the ball bearings in the right containers, which was hell on his back, not to mention the repetitive stress injuries and all the damage done to his ego. But Merda was expecting him to go apologize to the Radiant One, and if he didn't, Rodnok suspected, she would find inventive ways to make his life even more miserable, which was a truly terrifying prospect.

So he wearily trudged all the way out to Johnoo's house, which was just as far away as it had seemed the day before. On the way, he tried to cultivate an appropriately contrite demeanor.

His good intentions promptly vanished when Johnoo greeted him at the door with a loud, smug, "Hah! So _not_ a hooker. I'm like the high priest of sex around here, and everybody adores me."

Rodnok glared. "Yes, well, congratulations. And still very pretty, too. So yay for you. My life, on the other hand, brings new dimension to the phrase 'waking nightmare.' Not that I expect you to care or anything."

Johnoo's expression softened. "Bad day, huh?"

"You would not believe it."

Johnoo waved him inside. "I'll make you some tea. You can tell me about it."

Rodnok sat down at the kitchen table, and Johnoo put out sandwiches and cookies with the tea, which was possibly the best thing that had happened to Rodnok since he lost his memory. He started to recount the insult that had been his day, working up a good, loud amount of invective, and Johnoo nodded along sympathetically, which reassured Rodnok that at least someone seemed to understand.

"Everyone treats me like I'm intellectually deficient," Rodnok said with bewildered fury. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Johnoo shook his head. "High strung maybe."

"Fine! High strung. I can live with that. But the stupid thing? I just don't get it." He took a long breath. "Well, thanks for listening. It's a relief to have someone to talk to who doesn't laugh in my face."

"No problem." Johnoo poured him some more tea. "So, how's the trouble at home?"

Rodnok nearly choked on his cookie. "How did you—"

"It's why people usually come to see me," Johnoo quickly explained.

Rodnok let out a sigh. "My wife," he cringed at the word, "has some quibbles with my—" It was just too embarrassing to continue

"So, did you stop by for a consultation?"

"No!" Rodnok denied hotly. "Just to apologize. You have no idea how furious my wife was when she heard I'd called you a hooker."

Johnoo waved his hand. "Not an entirely unreasonable conclusion given the circumstances." There was a considering light to his expression. "Look, I still can't remember anything, but Elder Ziel showed me where the sacred texts are kept. I've been studying them, trying to jog my memory. There are descriptions and diagrams and stuff."

"Diagrams?"

"Very detailed. If you want me to try to help, I can give it a shot."

Rodnok's face went hot, just thinking about Johnoo helping him. "I should probably be getting home."

Johnoo shrugged. "Another time."

Rodnok got to his feet, but then had a flash of what was waiting for him and shuddered.

"Or, you know, now could be good."

"Yeah?"

Rodnok nodded.

"Okay then," Johnoo said. "Let's get started."

"What do we do?"

"There's a whole," Johnoo led him into the bedroom, "protocol thing. First, you need to put this on." He handed over a white robe. "You can change behind there." He pointed to a screen.

Rodnok went and undressed and pulled on the robe, which was rather too skimpy if you asked him, just barely reaching the tops of his thighs, cut low across the chest. He came out meaning to complain, but stopped when he caught sight of Johnoo, who was wearing a black silk g-string and nothing else.

"You, uh— changed too," he said, a master of the obvious.

Johnoo glanced down at his outfit, what there was of it. "Apparently, this is traditional for performing rituals. That's what the book says anyway."

"We certainly want to do things by the book," Rodnok said agreeably.

"So, have a seat." Johnoo pointed to a comfortable armchair. He picked up the book from the bedside table. "I hope you don't mind. I've read this chapter, but just in case I need to double check anything." He sounded apologetic.

"No problem. I mean, we wouldn't want to get the ritual wrong."

Rodnok took a seat, his robe riding up, making him feel rather ridiculously exposed, but then Johnoo knelt down in front of him, and he forgot all about being embarrassed.

"We're supposed to start with a therapeutic foot rub. The book says there's a spot that if properly stimulated will," he chose his words carefully, "restore a man to full strength."

It sounded like nonsense, but Rodnok's feet were still tired after his long day of drudgery, and he certainly wasn't going to argue.

Johnoo poured out some warmed oil, checked the diagram one last time, and went to work.

"Oh," Rodnok gasped at the touch of his hands.

The massage started lightly and gradually became more vigorous, building until Johnoo's thumbs were pressing hard into that magic spot just below the ball of his foot. Rodnok's groans of pleasure became simultaneously longer and louder. It felt so good, and he had to fight the urge to close his eyes so he could keep watching the erotic play of Johnoo's hands, his dark head bent beautifully over his work. Keeper of All Sensual Wisdom, indeed. Rodnok had been hard pretty much from the first touch.

Johnoo glanced up at him, his green eyes filled with amusement. "I guess the book knows what it's talking about it, huh?"

"Yes, yes, it would seem so," Rodnok agreed breathlessly.

Johnoo smiled sweetly and slid his hands up Rodnok's calves, a gentle, swirling tease.

"God." Rodnok started to shake.

By the time Johnoo reached the tops of Rodnok's legs, he was using only his fingertips, lightly tracing patterns over the skin, and Rodnok had trouble remembering to breathe. Johnoo untied the robe, pushed it out of the way and kissed the insides of his thighs.

"Oh, God," Rodnok moaned. "Can I touch you? Please! I want to touch you."

Johnoo only smiled, and that seemed enough like yes to Rodnok, as far gone as he was. He sank his fingers into Johnoo's hair, thick and soft, brushed his thumb gently along his cheek, ran his hands over Johnoo's strong shoulders, his beautiful back. Johnoo murmured at his touch, caressed Rodnok's chest, pushed his legs farther apart to lick at the crease of his thigh.

"Please. Please just—" Rodnok's voice cracked.

Apparently, this was encouragement enough. Johnoo bent his head and took Rodnok's cock into his mouth, hot paradise, his tongue streaking along the vein like lightning, leaving Rodnok thunderstruck. By now, all thought of books and therapeutic protocols was utterly gone from his head. So it was not until the third time Johnoo eased off just as he was ready to charge into the promised land that he finally figured out Johnoo was not actually evil, but simply testing his endurance

"You're supposed to help me," he whined, "not kill me!"

Johnoo laughed around his cock, the rumble of it making every nerve in Rodnok's body light up exquisitely. His head fell back, his eyes squeezed shut, hands gripped the arms of the chair. Johnoo showed mercy at last, taking his cock into his throat, fingers stroking lightly behind his balls. Rodnok came so hard it made his head buzz as if he were oxygen deprived. Johnoo stayed on his knees, rubbing his hands in circles over Rodnok's thighs while he recovered.

"So, no problem getting started or lasting," Johnoo mused. "Maybe the trouble's only with intercourse. We can work on that next time."

Johnoo got up to wash the oil from his hands in a basin on the dresser, while Rodnok was left to contemplate the idea of a next time, a prospect that made his cock twitch valiantly, if a little painfully. His gaze wandered over Johnoo's body. The thong did nothing to conceal the Radiant One's arousal. The idea that Johnoo had gotten hard sucking him was enough to make Rodnok think, "What refractory period?"

He pulled his robe back on and went to stand next to Johnoo.

"Is there anything I can do— for you?" he asked, a little awkwardly.

Johnoo made a wry face "Apparently, it's not the tradition. The book describes a ritual for release between supplicants."

"So you're just going to jerk off after I leave?"

"Well. Yeah. Apparently, self-abnegation is a big part of being the Relator. The book mentions that word _a lot_."

"Who cares what the book says!" Rodnok insisted loudly. "Tradition isn't everything. Especially if you can't even remember it." He laid his palm flat against Johnoo's chest. "I want to. Let me."

Johnoo seemed as if he might say no, the wrong answer, so Rodnok kissed him, a practical solution he felt. It took Johnoo a moment or two to fight off conscience, but at last he brought his hands up to frame Rodnok's face. His lips parted, and Rodnok could taste himself on Johnoo's tongue.

"God, you're amazing," Rodnok murmured as they kissed.

He pushed the g-string down over Johnoo's hips, held himself away just enough to watch, blood-dark cock sliding in his grip.

"So fucking gorgeous," he whispered.

Johnoo came quickly, breathing hard, not exactly practicing the stamina that he preached.

"Wow," he said afterwards, once he'd composed himself.

"Better than the ritual of self-release, I like to think," Rodnok boasted.

Johnoo smiled. "Much better." Then he looked chastened. "Although maybe it's not such a good idea for me to schedule any more appointments until I get my memory back. Who knows what kind of havoc I'm causing by breaking the rules?"

Rodnok frowned. "No more appointments— except with me, right?"

Johnoo did not answer at once.

"Oh, come on! You're the only person who doesn't openly mock me. And this," he made a vaguely suggestive gesture, "is the only thing I have to look forward to."

"All right," Johnoo agreed. "But we follow the book from now on."

"Absolutely! The book is our master. We obey the book in all things. So, can I see you tomorrow?"

"The book says there should be at least two days from one ritual to the next."

"Two days? You've got to be kidding—"

Johnoo raised an eyebrow. "The book is our master, huh?"

Rodnok sighed dramatically. "Fine. Have it your way."

He went behind the screen and changed into his clothes.

"Two days," he said when he came back out.

Johnoo smiled. "Two days."

Rodnok darted in and stole a kiss before leaving. Screw the damned book, he thought.

* * *

The next two days were the longest of his life. Rodnok was convinced of this, even if he couldn't actually remember his life. His coworkers continued to be infuriating, his sons unremitting boors, his house an insult to every notion of domestic comfort. Worst of all, Merda seemed to sense that something significant had transpired between him and Johnoo.

"The Relator fix you up, eh?" she'd ask, groping him to test the theory.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that if she were even remotely as attractive as the Radiant One there wouldn't be anything to fix, but the thought of what Merda might do with such knowledge scared him a lot, so he kept his mouth shut.

The only peace Rodnok had was when he was asleep. His dreams starred Johnoo, not surprisingly, erotic meanderings with beaded thongs and bare skin and that sweet, sweet mouth making him writhe. But then, the dreams would take an odd turn. He and Johnoo were still together, but partners of some sort. Rodnok called him John, and Johnoo called him Rodney, and there were other people there as well, with uniforms and serious expressions. None of them treated him like an idiot. It was heaven, and he hated to wake from it in the morning.

All day at work, he kept a mental countdown of how soon he'd be able to see Johnoo again. _2,097 minutes to go, 2,096…_ In the middle of corralling some runaway ball bearings, he had a vivid flash, the same scene from his dream, only now it had the grainy quality of memory. He was walking the corridors of a gleaming city with Johnoo, _John_, people in uniforms all around them.

He came back from this faraway place with a sudden start when someone clapped him on the back. He glanced around to find the foreman grinning at him.

"Forget what you're doing again, Rodnok?"

All around him men burst into laughter, but Rodnok didn't bother getting indignant. Suddenly, everything seemed not just annoying, but…wrong.

That night, he dreamed again of John and Rodney, more intensely than the evening before. There was cold and dark and rising water, and he didn't think he was going to survive, but then John miraculously appeared, and he knew everything was going to be all right.

Rodnok woke still shivering. He was bleary eyed from sleep, so at first he thought it was just his imagination that the corner of the room seemed to shimmer. He rubbed his hands over his face, but the oddity didn't go away. He threw on his clothes and let himself out of the house and ran all the way to Johnoo's place, the only person he was convinced he could trust.

By the time he arrived, he was out of breath and more than a little freaked out. Johnoo answered the door, yawning.

Rodnok rushed past him into the house. "There's something terribly not right going on here." Then he stopped and did a double take. Johnoo was wearing something flowing and filmy and utterly see-through. "Are you naked under that?"

"The books says it's the appropriate bedtime apparel for the Relator." Johnoo's mouth quirked sarcastically. "You know, to sleep in?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry. I guess it is rather late. I just needed—" But then _filmy_ and _naked_, and Rodnok forgot all about the weird shimmer and his panic. He took Johnoo by the wrist, pulled him close and kissed frantically. "God, you're hot."

It went on that way for some time.

"You wanted to tell me something," Johnoo said at last, between kisses.

Belatedly, Rodnok remembered the actual point of his visit.

"Yes." He took a step back, trying to think about something other than getting the Radiant One in bed and pushing that flimsy little nightgown out of the way and— He cleared his throat. "I know you'll think I'm probably crazy, but I'm not sure any of this is real—"

"Me either."

"Wait." Rodnok stared at him. "Really?"

"Something feels off to me. It has pretty much from the beginning. And I've been having weird dreams."

"Me too!"

"You're there."

"Yes! And all these other people with uniforms and serious expressions."

Johnoo nodded. "_That's_ what seems real, you know?"

"Yes! So much more real than this. I mean, please! I am _not_ an idiot."

"And I'm pretty sure I'm not the keeper of all sensual wisdom."

Rodnok coughed, remembering the blowjob that had nearly short-circuited him. "Well, perhaps there are some things here that are true to life—"

Johnoo grabbed his arm. "Do you see something in the corner?"

Rodnok turned. "The same thing happened at my house!"

"It kind of looks like—"

"The room's dissolving?"

* * *

Rodney was standing in a large, very crowded hall of well-dressed people. The room echoed with noise, ear-splittingly loud, and after a few puzzled seconds, he realized it was because every one in the place was shrieking with laughter. He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten here, a hole in his memory from the time he'd met Colonel Sheppard in the gate room for a routine trade mission to now.

Sheppard was standing next to him, looking just as confused. He put his hands on his hips and asked in that overly polite tone of his that meant he was very annoyed, "Does somebody want to tell me what's going on?"

A man with long gray hair stepped forward and assured them, "There is sometimes a period of mental confusion after one has returned from The Unreality, but it should wear off very shortly."

In fact, no sooner had the words left his mouth than Rodney began piecing things together, a planet called Telarus, with not one, not two, but three ZPMs they were willing to trade, and a veritable obsession with storytelling. The man with the gray hair was Sharoon, the head diplomat. Also Ziel, the Elder. Rodney could feel his face go hot as the explanation for that contradiction came flooding back to him.

The Colonel's expression indicated that he, too, was regaining his memory. "You know, Sharoon, when you said we could have the ZPMs if we'd just agree to help you explore traditional narratives in a new way it might have been nice if you'd explained exactly what that involved."

"We find visitors who do not know too much before going inside The Unreality have their memories more thoroughly suppressed. Blank slates make for much more interesting stories."

"The Unreality?" Rodney asked, his scientific curiosity stirred. "You mean, a virtual environment?"

Sharoon nodded. "As you may call it. I cannot tell you how pleased we are with your performance. 'The Holy Whore and the Village Idiot' is one of our most beloved narratives, and the extratextual charge brought to it with the two of you playing against type was most thrilling, most illuminating." His face glowed with enthusiasm.

"About that," Sheppard said, his expression very dark. "You could have warned us before we agreed to do this that we'd be put into situations that were kind of— compromising."

Sharoon regarded him blankly. "I do not understand. What happens in The Unreality—"

"Stays in The Unreality?" Rodney suggested.

Sharoon looked perplexed. Sheppard glared at him.

"Fine," Rodney said huffily. "I'll just be quiet now."

"In any event," Sharoon said with a clap of his hands, "it has been a most rewarding trade. Come and join us for our banquet. It is the custom to entertain the performers and get their perspective on the story. Then we will provide you with the power modules, and that will complete our business together."

Sheppard looked to Rodney. On the upside, Rodney thought, three ZPMs. On the downside, another unendurable alien festival and hours of wounded dignity ahead. He looked helplessly back to Sheppard. Really, what choice did they have?

Sheppard sighed unhappily. "Fine. Let's do this banquet thing."

"Wonderful," Sharoon gushed. "Colonel Sheppard, I'll have a place set for you next to me. There are so many things I want to ask! As a military man, your insights into a role traditionally played by a woman will be most fascinating."

He bustled off to see to the arrangements. His remark set off another rush of memories for Rodney, vivid, Sheppard-shaped memories that left him blushing.

He cleared his throat. "Um, Colonel, perhaps we should discuss—"

Sheppard's mouth pulled grimly at the corners. "Not another word, McKay." He stalked off to take his place at the banquet table.

"Hey, at least you got to be a sex god!" Rodney yelled after him.

A woman approached, dressed in a lavish blue gown, her hair elegantly arranged in braids and coils and curls. She nodded regally. "Dr. McKay."

"Oh, uh, hello," he said, shifting his feet.

Stylish women—okay, women in general—tended to make him a little nervous.

The woman smiled. "I wanted to thank you for your performance. It was truly marvelous."

"Well," he stammered, "yes. Thank you."

She smiled again and nodded and swept past him. He jumped when his ass was pinched and whirled around. The woman winked at him, and he stared, his mouth falling open. No hump, no snaggled teeth, but now that he was looking closer, definitely Merda.

"I made certain you're seated next to me. I'm very anxious to explore how the real man differs from the role." She ran a finger down the fly of his pants and turned, clearly expecting him to follow.

"Oh God," he muttered to himself.

As he took his seat at the table, a thought started to form in his head, _how could this day get any worse?_, but thankfully he caught himself just in time.


End file.
